


Sea Green, Ocean Blue

by Pimento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beaches, Destiel - Freeform, Fairy Tale Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-12-29 19:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18300797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: Written for Alessariel for the ProfoundBond Fairy Tale Exchange.Dean Winchester likes his simple life. His biggest problems are catching the perfect wave, balancing his love of pie with his need for insulin and being so secretive and vague about his writing career that almost everyone he knows assumes he writes porn, not beautifully illustrated fairy tales for children.He thinks only his best friend/literary agent Charlie and her wife know just what a sappy romantic dork he is, but his over-protective brother and his friends and family know him far better than he realises. So when it looks as though his knight in shining armour might actually  be something else entirely he has allies aplenty.





	1. Sea Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alessariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alessariel/gifts).



Waist deep in the rolling ocean, upper body swaying slightly as the swell rocked up against his chest.  Tiny bubbles, as brief as pecked kisses, bloomed and popped across the neoprene of his wet-suit. The only sound, apart from the occasional call of the ever-present gulls, was the break of the waves above the sandbank further out to sea.  The froth of the caps luminescent in the dying light. The sun hovered minutes above the distant horizon, but he did not want to leave the water, content to watch the sky and ocean blend into the muted pastels of twilight.

He absorbed the peace, until with a reluctant last deep breath and stretch of his shoulders, he turned and strode out of the ocean.  His board stood like a monolith, stabbed into the sand just beyond the water line while he enjoyed the quiet solitude at the end of the day’s surfing.  Skin cooling, he shivered, in anticipation of the burning heat of his first shower. The tide sucked waves and sand around his bare feet, as he contorted one arm to release the Velcro at his neck and used his other hand to grab the zip pull and drag the back of his suit open, peeling it over his arms and chest.

Bittersweet:  Beauty at the end of the day, like a farewell hug or the last mouthful of pie.  Of course, he would never admit to such poetic notions, on pain of death, he would not subject himself to the ridicule of his peers… or his kid brother with his ridiculous hipster hair and earnest intentions.

He grabbed his board and enjoying the gentle strain that proved he’d had a good day in the surf, he pushed his aching legs to propel him through the deep soft sand into the scruff at the edge of the dunes.

As he reached the point of no return, where the path curled behind the steep, wind whipped swell of grass and sand, he turned to take one last look at the soft gleaming colours.  A single figure was walking along the sands. As he watched the man stopped, stretched and then sat on the sand. Initially, he frowned, then recognising the emotion for what it was he laughed at himself for feeling proprietary about ‘his’ beach.  He was just so used to having this remote stretch to himself. Even at the weekend in the height of Summer, it was a quiet spot. Offseason, on a weekday, he rarely saw another soul all day. It drove Sam crazy, ‘low blood sugar’, ‘not safe’ and ‘everyone else has a surf buddy in case they get into difficulties, it isn’t just you’ or ‘crack your thick skull on the sand or your board, that could happen to anyone’, blah, blah, blah.

The figure on the sand, just a silhouette, dark grey against the colours of the slowly fading sky, raised smoothly and elegantly from the sand, stretching skyward, in perfect balance. Yoga, Dean realised suddenly.  He watched fascinated, the pose bringing to mind a leaping dolphin. The shadow and reflection mingling in the wet sand was beautiful, a Rorschach butterfly of serenity in dusky, muted pastels. French rose and Lavender blending into Thulian shining against the dark flaxen sand.  Dissected from the muted Baby Blue of the sky by the dark, dark Denim of the sea. Without thinking he grabbed his phone from its waterproof sleeve and snapped a panorama before the moment was lost.

 


	2. Moonlight Silver

He stared about him. Discarded clothes scattered around the moonlit room, to the casual observer it might appear to be the evidence of a night of passion, the casual observer would be entirely incorrect. Beside him, She finally slept. He swung himself upright, the hardwood floor pressing into the soles of bare feet he had finally begun to accept as his own. All the while he listened to Her gentle snoring, wary. She was a light sleeper. He had found that out to his cost early on.

But last night had been a family celebration, so She had allowed the press of a full glass into Her hand. Let it to be refilled over and over until even he had lost count of just how much She had drunk. It was at least three years since he had seen Her so inebriated. Certainly drunk enough that She had forgotten to refit the silver torq before passing out.

Beside him, Her breathing stilled briefly. He tried not to wish it stayed that way. Then with a snuffle, half gasp, half snore, and a smacking of lips Her lungs clawed a deep intake of oxygen. He had to decide. He either lifted himself from this bed and searched while he had the chance, risking Her wrath if She awoke and he could not convince Her that he was simply avoiding disturbing Her, or he took the cowards way out and lay back down, to wait here, sleepless, and silently hating everything until daybreak. The torq on Her bedside table shimmered, deeply impressed markings shifting in the moonlight, mocking him.

He had not always been this cautious, he had been wild and reckless when he was young. This captivity had made him pragmatic. But he burned with the need to do something, anything to prove his free will. Would it be worth it? Did he really want to risk Her fragile trust in him? He could search, but was it really likely that She would keep something so significant and important where he could find it?

It wasn’t really cowardice, it just made sense. If he could keep Her trust, there would be other opportunities. Better opportunities, with a higher chance of success. Her trust was growing. She had let him go to the beach. More than that She had let him go alone. It was a sign of progress. His free will would have to stay his own little secret for a while longer. Carefully, so as not to jostle Her, he lowered himself back to the mattress.

He closed his eyes, centred his breathing, let himself recall the flood of salty air into his nostrils and the feel the echo of the surf pounding through the sand. Let himself drift back to dusk at the beach.

“Good boy.” The sound of Her voice and the sting of the runes against his skin jolted him back. She was leaning over him, eyes black in the shadows of Her face. So She had been testing him after all. Suppressing his revulsion, he drifted to the beach, deep in his own mind away from the cold weight of the torq and its unwelcome, restrictive touch.

 


	3. So Many Blue

 

"Handmaiden, how goes it in the realm of Engleweld?" Charlie's cheerful voice filled the room, acoustic sunshine. Dean stretched back from his computer, letting the battered old leather chair he had salvaged as a student flex backwards under the pressure and closed his eyes, letting his eyelids filter the sunlight crimson. He had been eyeball deep in admin all day. It was the one part of his work,he enjoyed the least and Sam’s suggestion that he hire himself an accountant or administrator seemed like the best advice in the world sometimes, but ultimately he preferred to do it himself. It was a day of mildly tedious computer work every month or so at most. And it meant he could keep his most closely guarded secret. 

"My Queen," he chuckled, "All is well." 

The noise Charlie made was not quite disbelief, but certainly held a note of concern.

"Seriously, I think I might have an idea for the next set of stories."

Her relief was palpable. "Really," she babbled, "I won't lie to you. There was talk of thumb screws at the last planning meeting."

"Crowley, I presume? That's what I get for dropping you as my publisher and selling my soul to the devil," he grumbled.

"You know it was a great deal, Dean, and like I told you, Dorothy and I just couldn't keep up with the sales. You've been more than generous keeping me on as your agent. Besides, your books are beautiful, they deserve the widest possible audience and the big publishing houses have the clout to go international and really push them out there. So what's the idea?"

"I'm still very much in the early stages, but I've got some draft visuals worked out... I'm thinking about mermaids..."

"Mermaids? Where the hell did that idea come from? Don't get me wrong, I love it, but that's quite a switch away from the fae."

Dean's screen timed out and not for the first time this month he found himself staring at the figure on the beach, saved as his screensaver, and the colours flitted through his mind, new and enticing. "Not sure really," he lied smoothly, picking experimental mixes of oyster and silver from under his fingernails.

Somewhere in the background, he could hear excited babbling. The phone line clunked slightly, and he suspected that Charlie was currently fending off armfuls of over-excited four year old. "Dude," she said sweetly, "I have to go, we have a park date. Soon as you have something worked out, ping it down and I'll run it past your biggest fan. Say bye to Uncle Dean, Cara."

"Hi Unca Dean, can I have a story?"

"Not right now, JellyBean, but like your Mama says. Soon as it's ready, you'll be the first to see."

"Ok, Bye, Unca Dean." 

Dean smiled. and stared out through the drifting voile curtains to a perfectly still and sunny day. If he left in the next hour the tide would be at the sweet spot between high and low tide when the sandbank threw the best waves. 

It was not so much a decision as an inevitability and he had closed his laptop and slipped into his soft sand shoes before he had even acknowledged the intention to leave to himself.

\---

The surf was invigorating, he relaxed into the activity, losing the time and everything except the crisp shifting shades of Cerulean, Pine, Prussian, Azure and Cornflower, interrupted only occasionally by the warm tonal contrast of the Bronze and Gold of the sand and the rich tones of the tufted grass on the dunes, a shade he could only achieve by blending Jade Green and Independence Blue. His whole world narrowed to what had been his favourite palette. Until recently. He wondered briefly whether he would see the yoga guy today. He had seen him several times since that first time. Sometimes jogging past, sometimes walking. Only practicing his yoga once he thought he was alone, unaware of Dean watching from the seclusion of the dunes.

He sat astride his board. The sun warm on his back, neoprene itching as it dried and stuck to his skin reminding him just how long he had been inactive, content to bob on the waves, listening to the rhythmic crackle as they broke a few yards ahead of him. His stomach gave a sudden growl and he realised he had not had lunch. Rookie error. The surge of adrenaline did nothing to help his blood chemistry. His backpack was on the beach, just a quick paddle and a wave away.

\---

It was only once he had opened the zipped pocket inside his backpack and his gently shaking fingers closed on absolutely nothing, that he remembered fumbling in his bag as he drove home from the beach a few days ago for the very same reason as today. He had meant to replace the candy and orange juice when he got home. Meant to. But hadn’t.

The colours around him darkened as if the day had suddenly become cloudy, except when he glanced upwards the sky was a wide unbroken expanse and the sun burnt dark circles on his retinas. His ears began to hum and in mild panic, he upended the bag and tipped the entire contents onto his hastily dropped board. His vague hope that he had something, somewhere in the deeper recesses instantly crushed. The neat ziplock containing his medi-kit and insulin, uselessly mocking him as it rolled onto the sand. He threw the bag down with a mild curse and snatched up his car keys. Wobbling to his feet, he stomped in the direction of the dunes and his truck. Calm the fuck down, idjut. He was halfway to the dunes when he realised his phone was still zipped into the padded pocket in the centre of the backpack. The backpack he had left crumpled in the sand by his surfboard. He blinked. Go back, go forward. His ears were burning now, his vision began to fraction. Then the horizon was tilting until it disappeared behind bright bursting circles of Crimson, Arctic White, Violet and Primrose.

\---

"...if he doesn't start to come round soon, you'll need to call him an ambulance..." Sam. Sam wasn't at the beach, he must still be at the beach, he could feel the sand under his feet.

No, no medics. “Ngh.” Fuck that wasn’t an articulate response. Try again. “N, b’lance. S’fine.”

"I know, he does sound drunk, it's just the effects of the low blood sugar...You're doing great, Castiel..." Sam's voice sounded tinny. "Don't worry, once he does start talking properly, you'll probably wish he was unconscious again." Gee, thanks, Moose.

The press of something to his lips. He drank. Water. Sugary water. He was leaning against something warm and firm. He opened his eyes and squinted. Many feet merged and blurred then amalgamated together. Still two sets of feet there. Four feet. Seeing double? He flexed his toes. Only two of the feet moved. One left and one right. Correction. He was leaning against  _someone_ warm and firm. He squinted again, there was something wrong with the other toes, but his vision blurred and he couldn’t focus properly. No gaps. Why was there skin between the toes? Huh? He giggled.

He dropped his head back and turned it to the side. His nose bumped up against warm flesh, and his lips pressed against cool metal. He forced his eyes to reopen and stretched his neck back. A shining halo of light, and dark, dark hair, hickory and chocolate. He blinked and then his vision finally began to co-operate. A Pearly White row, and bobbles of Carmine shading into Dark Maroon, framed with Pink Bubblegum and Thulian, crusted like cocktail sugar. Prussian Blue and Oyster dots peppering soft, soft Tan. And then...oh... just Blue... so many Blue.

He let his head loll and then with conscious effort he licked his lips and focused. The colours swirled briefly then coalesced, into the sharp, but highly aesthetically pleasing features of a very concerned face. He let his head roll back and spotted his phone propped into the sand, Sam and his wife Eileen watching him from the screen.

“Who 's’ a angel?…” he tried to wave weakly, as Eileen raised her curled fist to her forehead, pinkie extended. _Idiot._

\---

By the time he was (mostly) upright and the shakes had receded to something manageable (he was no longer in danger of losing teeth) the sea had almost reached his scattered belongings. Dean sat quietly sipping the remnants of the energy drink waiting until he felt sure he could stand without swooning like some teenage drama queen, his phone uncomfortably hot against his ear as he listened miserably to a weapons-grade lecture on his lack of self-care. He pushed down his irritation at every truth, working hard to suppress his tendency to snark when he was in the wrong. Irresponsible, reckless, idiotic, dangerous, foolhardy... Sam's list of his failings on this score was endless.

"Well, at least we know your damned college fees weren't a waste of money, the vocab alone is worth near bankruptcy."

He could hear the answering bitch face in the weighted silence, broken only by a stern intake of breath.

"Listen, Sammy. I'm sorry OK, I normally have supplies in my bag. I just must have forgotten to..."

"Forgotten?" Dean was fairly certain Same was in danger of rupturing vocal chords. "How many times have I told you not to surf alone? How goddamn many? And for precisely this reason!" 

Dean moved the phone to his other ear, he may as well even up the heat, Sam was nowhere near out of steam.

“You were damned lucky that guy just happened along. Damned lucky he was smart enough to work out what your insulin pack was and to find me under your ICE contact, damned lucky he was willing to try and help you rather than just ring an ambulance and damned lucky he happened to have an energy drink on him."

“I know Sam. I know.” From his vantage point, sat in the soft sand higher up the beach, Dean watched as ‘that guy’, his saviour, Castiel, (mute not deaf), finished patiently packing Dean’s scattered belongings into the backpack. The flow of soft linen showing off some impressive musculature as the growing offshore wind sculpted his clothes to his body. "Lucky as fuck," he mum⁵bled mostly to himself. 

"Oh, you are unbelievable!" Sam snapped. "You are actually ogling him, right now, aren't you?! I know that tone. You nearly kill yourself, just to prove how tough and independent you are. And instead of admitting you've been a complete jackass, you are hitting on the good Samaritan..."

"I'm not hitting on him," Dean protested.

"Not yet maybe," Sam grumbled, the fight finally draining from his voice. "Jesus, Dean, do you have any idea what it's like getting a text from your brother's phone from a complete stranger asking what he can do to help you because he can't get any sense out of you and you just collapsed on the beach in front of him?"

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I really am and I promise, I won't do it to you again."

"Promise away, but don't think we aren't gonna have another serious talk about this at some point and I can't promise Eileen won't tear you limb from limb. You can't just ignore your condition, Dean...Just for Christ's sake go get something to eat and take it easy for the rest of the day."

\---

Dean's route back was normally a pleasant 15-minute walk through the dunes, the sand underfoot gradually firming up as the dune grass diminished until it was solid enough to bear the weight of vehicles. And then a sedate drive along the winding strip of flat top through the marshy hinterland, another even shorter drive along the coast road into the little coastal town he called home. Normally, he wasn't half hanging like a drunk date over someone's shoulder, while they carried his bag and his board. 

He had squawked indignantly when Castiel typed the offer to carry him back to his truck and then come back for his things, "Dude, I weigh two hundred and change! I can walk."

Halfway back, he was beginning to curse his own pride. His legs still refused to behave properly and his head was beginning to ache. Worse still, there was no way in hell he was going to be safe to drive his truck. Apparently, Castiel was at least one step ahead of him, setting him down gently and typing into the phone.

YOU OK? NEED A BREAK?

" 'm OK, just needed a breather. I'm sorry to do this but..."

Castiel gave him a gummy grin, he mimed driving with his two hands and poked himself in the chest and nodded. And then, he mimed eating, pulling an exaggerated questioning look. 

"You using my condition as an excuse to get me on a date, Cas?" Dean smirked, enjoying the brief flash of indignance before Castiel realised he was being teased and his eyes narrowed dangerously. One eyebrow arching high, elegant fingers moving swiftly over the phone screen.

ASSBUTT

Dean chuckled, enjoying the other man's smile. "Yes, I would be really grateful if you would drive me back to town and I do need to eat. I think, all in all, buying you dinner is the least I can do. That is if you'd do me the honour of joining me..." He could be smooth. He could.

\---

The diner on the outskirts of town was only ever really busy during tourist season and at weekends, but it still did a steady trade off-peak, mainly because the food was not only reasonably priced but exceptionally good. Dean was enough of a regular that he only needed to order if he wanted something different from his usual, but he normally ate alone, so they had barely sat down in his favourite booth before Jo appeared at his table, her expression a study in nonchalance.

"Hi Dean. What'll it be? We got a special on the sharing platters, today," she said innocently.

Dean ignored her and rattled off his favourite burger and fries combo, with a sugar-free root beer float, surprised when Castiel nodded and raised two fingers. Jo scribbled on her pad and shouted the order through the hatch to Benny, former special forces, his father’s ex-partner in their bail bondsman business and since they all retired …  magician on the grill.

"I figured with all the yoga, you'd be a goji berry and quinoa nut like Sammy." Castiel looked puzzled and Dean blushed when he realised Castiel had no idea that he had been watching his sessions on the beach. "I saw you, hm, see you, sometimes, after dusk... ya know... you're very graceful," he finished lamely.

He was saved by Jo, delivering the root beers. Castiel smiled and signed a thank you. "Oh," she said softly, her face turned towards Dean. "A friend of Eileen's? Silent, but deadly attractive is the way to bag yourself a Winchester, now?"

Dean gave her a shove. "Sorry, Cas, you have to forgive Jo, we grew up together and she's the one-word answer to the question 'why do I usually come here alone?'. Castiel is mute, Jo, not deaf. He rescued me at the beach today, and I'm buying him dinner as a thank you."

Jo blushed, mumbling an apology, but as she moved out of his eye line, Dean could see Castiel laughing. He touched her arm and mouthed it's OK. He held out a hand and she shook it. "Nice to meet you, Castiel," she said. Still red to her roots she retreated behind the counter. 

"Sorry, Cas, I shoulda warned you about this place. The owner Ellen is married to my Uncle Bobby, apart from Sam and Eileen, they're all the family I got, so, oh God, apart from my goddaughter Cara, and her mothers. They're like family too... shit, I'm babbling like an idiot. Do you have family? Are you on holiday here or... I mean it's a small place, everybody knows everybody else and you had no car, so I'm guessing you must be staying in town somewhere..."

Castiel slid the phone around.

I CAN TYPE FAST, DEAN, BUT NOT THAT FAST

"Sorry."

YOU UNDERSTAND SOME ASL.

"Yeah, I learnt a bit, cos of Eileen, but not enough to hold a proper conversation. But we're doing OK, aren't we?"

Cas smiled and nodded. _We're OK._

\---

The time flew, Castiel was easy company and Dean was really enjoying himself. The burgers were killer, as ever, and Dean was just considering whether to boost his insulin so he could risk ordering pie (Ellen had long ago worked out a low sugar recipe just for him, but he still had to adjust his meds). Somewhere behind the counter, an alarm was sounding. Benny appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishcloth, he pressed a few buttons on the alarm system, before giving in and pulling the plug with an exasperated expression. It was only then that Dean realised that Castiel's trip to the men's room was taking far longer than would be considered normal. Would it be weird to go and check on him? He tried to think exactly how long it had been. It must be at least ten minutes. He pulled himself out of the booth and wandered to the bathroom. The room was empty and neither stall was occupied. He turned to head back to the diner and it was then that he noticed that the fire escape was slightly ajar. 

There was only one explanation. Castiel, his knight in shining armour, had bailed on him. He suddenly remembered that Castiel had his truck keys and had been using his phone to type as they talked, he patted his pockets more in hope than expectation. Castiel had ditched him and jacked his car and stolen his phone. "Son of a bitch!"


	4. Obsidian

\---

Dean pushed open the fire exit and looked up and down the street. It was a dark night. The new moon was hidden by low cloud and only the intermittent dots of house lights and street lamps broke the obsidian gloom. But even through the dark he could make out the silhouette of his truck, surfboard on the roof. With a little surge of hope he walked towards it, “Cas?” Nothing but the mocking echo of his own voice. A flash of light inland caught his eye and he watched a set of headlights reveal a small section of the road rising up into the hills. Shades of black, brief highlights giving shape to the scrub and the long curve of Armco barrier as the road disappeared inland. Other than that the only movement anywhere was the restless bob and clang of the mooring buoys in the bay.

With a sad sigh, he turned to go back indoors, suddenly spotting a set of keys on the ground by the exit, scooping to pick them up, he grunted as he landed on his ass in the dirt, body-checked to the ground by Benny’s forbidding bulk.

\---

“He stole your phone?” Jo’s voice was indignant as she gently picked grit from the scrapes on his hands. “Asshole.”

“Assbutt,” Dean mumbled, smiling to himself at the memory. He had thought it was all going so well. Was the attraction all one sided? He didn’t think so. “Maybe he just forgot he had it on him, maybe there was some emergency and he had to leave and he just forgot. I mean he could have stolen my truck, he had the keys.”

Jo scoffed then seeing the expression on Dean’s face, she shrugged. “It’s possible,” she conceded grudgingly, “ I suppose... He did seem too nice to pull something like this.” Dean winced as she daubed antiseptic onto his hands.

“We could just ring it,” Benny pointed out calmly. “I mean a thief probably wouldn’t answer it, but if it was an honest mistake....”

“If what was an honest mistake?” They all looked up as Ellen walked into the diner. “Dean!” she exclaimed. “Thank God, you’re still here, Sam is going spare. He’s been tryna ring you for the last half hour. Something about you forgetting to eat and passing out on the beach…”

“Well that answers that question,” Dean said gloomily. “Castiel has my phone, I best use the landline to ring Sam, before he sets everyone from the Coastguard to the FBI on my tail.”

“Go ahead,” Ellen said, dryly, “Although you’re a little late. Why d’you think I’m here? He asked me to come down and check on you, apparently the phone here is running out engaged and when he saw your phone heading inland he was worried you’d had another turn and had to go to the hospital.”

“Castiel?.. the dreamy Samaritan?” she asked Jo, who nodded.

“Wait what? Inland. How can he see my phone going inland?”

“I dunno, he mumbled something about Ash and trackers. Jo-Beth, have you knocked that damn phone cable out again?”

“Might have been me this time, Ma’am,” Benny admitted apologetically. “I had to do a three pin reset on the alarm system after Dean’s new fella tripped the alarm going out the fire door.”

“Dammit, Benny, why didn’t you just ask me or Bobby to come down? It takes hours to get that goddamn system working right again. Ash may be a genius, and Lord knows I love the man, but he makes stuff too darned complicated sometimes. Last time it took me three hours to get it all up and running again…”

They all looked up startled as Dean shouted. “Since when does my brother have a fucking tracker on my phone!?”

“You mind who you’re swearing and hollering at, Dean Winchester,” Ellen said sharply. “You can ask him yourself, he’ll be here in a few minutes. Don’t look at me like that, he was worried. And there is no power on this earth that can stop your little brother when he thinks you might need him.”

\---

Castiel stared dejectedly from the window of the car as they drove through the moonless night, the sky overclouded and black as pitch since they had climbed the hill, leaving the lights of the pretty coastal town behind them. He wasn’t sure how She had found him. He supposed it was only a small place and She had only to drive around looking.

“I’m not angry,” She said. The high spots in Her cheeks and the slight squeaky edge to Her voice, belying Her statement. “I’m not your enemy Castiel. I only want to keep you safe. You know what will happen if your family find you. You are an abomination, Castiel. I’m the only one who doesn’t care about all that. You have nowhere else to go. I thought I was being kind bringing you to a beach side place, I thought being so close to the ocean would soothe you. It was nice to see you relaxed and smiling after your walks on the beach, but I should have realised it would be too much of a temptation for you. I see now it would be better for you if we move inland again.”

Castiel had heard all Her arguments before:

He was the halfling Prince. She hid his coat to protect him from himself so that he wouldn’t be tempted to return to the water, his mother’s kind might not wish him harm, but they did not really trust the Prince of the daemon realm in their midst. They did not want him, She was the only one who wanted him.

The torq which hid him from the scrying of witches, and the summoning of his father’s kind, also stole his voice so that he couldn’t be tricked into confiding who or what he was to anyone. She told him often that the fact that it also stole his free will making him pliable to Her wishes and unable to ignore Her direct commands was, of course, just an unwelcome side effect that She preferred not to use.

It was all necessary to hide him, for although he was the Prince and rightful ruler of the daemon realm, his Uncle, who now ruled the kingdom in his stead had sent Her to kill him, and She had to protect from others of their kind who would follow to complete the job.

Castiel shifted in his seat, his spine was twisted at an awkward angle where She had fastened his wrists to the shell of the car and She glanced across at him, dropping Her hand onto his knee. “Rest easy, my prince, you will only hurt yourself if you fight the restraints. I use them only to keep you safe until we can work out what is wrong with the torq. We’ll go to my brother’s,” She told him calmly, “His house is well warded, you’ll be safe there so we can remove the torq and he’ll help me strengthen the spellwork, maybe we need to rework the runes.”

He shuddered at Her touch and ignored the sting of tears in his eyes. It has taken him so long to gain just a small amount of Her trust. Even longer to find a way to communicate with the world. Seeing two small children in their neighbour’s yard talking with their hands in the garden at a previous home. Shyly learning the basics from Alison, the little deaf girl, through the fence whenever She left him alone. Until their mother, well-meaning and kindly had mentioned how nice it was that Her partner was so good with the children. That had been enough to set them moving. For Castiel was not allowed acquaintances outside Her family circle, not even little children. Thank all the Gods, She had not known about the ASL. He began to watch DPAN whenever he could, careful to wipe it from the internet history he knew She monitored every day so She would not learn of his attempts to communicate with the outside world.

Strangely enough it was his new tendency to stay indoors that had lead to the move to the coast. His sudden apparent obedience winning him extra trust and reward. The limited freedom to wander along the beach alone, to watch the lone surfer from afar. His joy in the water. Something Castiel longed for, but could not have. But far from feeling jealous, Castiel enjoyed his easy athleticism and carefree movements. And then today, sensing something terribly wrong as he saw him from a distance, watching him fall to the sand and running as hard as he had ever run to the prone figure. His relief when Sam Winchester had opened a video call and he and Eileen had conversed. It was as if this was all predestined.

Today, for the first time he could remember, he had felt accepted and happy. Until She had surprised him as he left the bathroom. “Follow me Castiel. Get in the car Castiel.” For one glorious moment he had resisted, his will to return to Dean stronger than Her spellwork. The look of surprise on Her face delighting him. But She was not so easily beaten, the spark and sting of a taser had stunned his mortal body, and Her supernatural strength made it easy for Her to manhandle him. By the time he had recovered physically he was in the car, bound hand and foot with warded manacles and powerless to break free. And now he was back to square one.

But despite the torq burning at his neck and the fear churning at his gut, he could not regret it. He had felt more alive in the last few hours with Dean Winchester than he had in all the decades he had spent in Her company, since She stole him from the sea. And She could not take his memories or the pleasure they would bring him no matter how far away She took him.

\---

Enabling his stupidly over-protective sibling’s behaviour aside, Dean could have kissed Ash. Ellen had sent Benny to drag Ash from his trailer behind the diner. He arrived bleary eyed and stoned as usual, confused as to why everyone thought it was such a big deal that he had fitted a tracker to Dean’s phone, but it was just for protection.,

“You’ll be telling me you’re all pissed at the camera system next.”

By the time everyone had calmed back down, and Ellen had been convinced that Ash was not spying on her, but protecting her business and her family, Ash had pulled open his battered old, sticker covered laptop and they were all watching as Castiel was very clearly abducted from the diner, by a surprisingly strong, small female.

Sam’s arrival just as Dean slumped back onto one of the diner stools had stunned him even further. His hug was bone-crushing, full of relief and panic. And one look in his brother’s watery hazel eyes had flushed the anger right out of Dean.

Sam did, at least, have the decency to look contrite, when Ellen informed him that Dean knew about the tracker.Eileen, however,, it was clear, had not been aware of his spying activities and she was clearly furious at him. The motions of her hands, always expressive, were sharp and accusing.

But Dean, kind of got it, it was a gross invasion of his privacy but his over-protective smothering was driven by their previous losses. And he had to be honest, if Sam had only asked, he would probably have said OK. After all, if it put the giant baby’s mind at rest it was worth it.

And right now, he was extremely glad that Ash knew exactly where his phone was. Because today his knight in shining armour, the man who had rescued him just a few short hours ago had become the damsel in distress and Dean fully intended to go rescue him right back.


	5. The Crimson vs The Grey

“We should call the cops,” Jo said, not unreasonably. “We have CCTV footage to give them to prove he’s not just disappeared of his own accord, they have the resources and expertise to intervene…”

“Kidnapping’s a federal crime, surely?” Ellen added.

Sam shook his head. “Not unless and until they cross the state line.”

“By the time the feds get their asses in gear, we’ll have lost the phone signal. And we have to assume that the minute that phone is found they’re either gonna dump it or smash it.” Ash pointed out.

“Besides which,” Sam said, blushing softly, “Ash’s tracker isn’t exactly legit. He might have some awkward questions to answer…It’s not like any of us is licensed anymore.”

Eileen’s hands blurred, she signed so furiously. Dean caught snippets, not only betraying your brother, breaking the law, he closed his eyes when she began to tell Sam just what his punishment was gonna be…

He picked aimlessly at the red and white checkered pattern of the cloth. The texture of the cotton, rough and grounding. He let his mind wander to the colours, crimson and crisp ivory, mauve and lavender grey, light and shadow, cataloguing them automatically to calm himself. All he wanted to do was run home, leap in his truck and chase after Cas. He hadn’t done anything so reckless since they’d lost their Dad. Heavy drinking, bad ass bail bondsman, John Winchester, chasing down criminals and training Dean in his own image.

When John died, it had been Sammy’s suggestion that they quit, the argument had raged. He’d confessed he’d been applying to colleges and already grieving the sense of betrayal had tipped him over the edge, the blazing row had escalated into a separation that lasted a year.

He and Benny had been lying wait in a sleazy back-water bar, acting on a pillowtalk tip-off, when the fuzzy headed, general malaise he’d been feeling for months had shown it’s hand and he collapsed on the floor.

Ambulances, medics, doctors, test after test and the gentle explanation from a quiet, softly spoken Doctor followed. And worse Sam, impossibly, even slightly taller and looking pale and pensive and tearful, with a small dark-haired girl firmly gripping his hand, appearing at his bedside.

He went into denial, refused to use his insulin properly, drank, didn’t watch his diet and ended up back in the hospital, where the gentle explanation was replaced with a few home truths. Benny suggested they sell up, they let their bondsman licences drop and ‘retired’. He quietly, secretly enrolled himself in one of the therapy groups in the ‘self help’ folder took his new found love art, enrolled himself on a creative writing course and never looked back. But the training was still there. He jumped slightly as a heavy hand dropped on his shoulder, and he stared up at Benny, his father’s one-time junior partner. “This is Dean’s choice,” he told the assembled group, “Say the word, brother, and we follow where you lead.”

\---

Castiel fell asleep, somewhere along the route, exhaustion tugging his eyes shut, despite his best efforts to stay aware and look for outs. His only chance was that She too would become exhausted and need to rest. Then he might be able to find the key and slip away from Her. Even if it meant never finding his coat, he might have somewhere else he could bear to be, now. A vicarious life is better than this. Better than no life at all.

He dreamt of his life before Her. He had always been an outsider. He assumed it was because he was an orphan, that his mother had done some terrible deed. The Selkie elders let him live amongst them, clearly meant him no harm, protected him even, but no-one seemed to wish to associate with him.

He dreamt of his only friend, Balthazar, as reckless and rebellious as he, chasing fishes, exploring the oceans, swimming through kelp fields at the edge of the kingdom until the found the fabled land of sand, watching the humans on the beach, fascinated, until the temptation became too much and they learned to walk and talk amongst them.

He dreamt of his coat, of slipping between the realms. And then he dreamt of Her. His pleasure at having a friend. And then the dream turned dark. As She stole his coat and he fought to escape the torq, even as she told him she loved him too much to kill him. Loved him too much to let him go, despite his begging to return to the sea.

He struggled against the very real restraints as the vehicle jolted to a halt and he opened his eyes. The torq burned at his skin, but he could feel it’s vulnerabilities, like a lifting scab on a wound. It damped his powers, but he was still strong and muscular, maybe he could break the manacles free of the door. He started to shift in his seat, feeling with his fingers along the edge of the handle seeking a weak spot.

“Easy Castiel,” Her voice was soft, patronising. “We’re nearly there, less than a mile away, no point making a fuss now. Leave the door alone.” He shifted back in his seat, resentful and hating the sound of Her voice, as She continued. “There’s my good boy.” In just a few moments, when they reached Her brother’s place, once those gates opened and they passed over the seal at the entrance he would have no means of escape.

Something stuck into his leg, pinching into his flesh as it snagged against the seat, from where it sat in the deep thigh pocket of his soft linen pants. Something square and solid. She had not searched him obviously, or She would have found it. But why would She search him? She had never allowed him to have a cell phone, it would not occur to Her.

But who could he ring? The authorities were a waste of time. He could hardly make a voice call to anyone without a voice to call with. He could not risk a video call for the noise it would make. There was a volume button somewhere, but he was not sure where. If he could figure out how it worked, maybe he could send a text. Although… what could he possibly say, he had little idea where he actually was, besides somewhere inland. And even if he could find a way to contact them, there was a promise of more, a beginning, but their limited acquaintance scarcely earned him the right to ask for help that would put Dean and his family in danger. No, there was no-one to turn to, he had to find someway to save himself. Maybe he had better turn the cell phone off, lest it ring and She find it before he could figure out a way to use it.


	6. Nothing Gold Can Stay

He pulled back the dust sheet. She was in perfect running order. Something he had thrown himself into. A reverse decomposition, taking her broken rotten hulk and returning her to life, even while John Winchester turned to dust under the soil. 

There was no way he could taint her with beach sand, salt air and surfboards, so he kept her safe and wrapped up, like his old life. If by chance, he was seen approaching the area, his truck was a giveaway. The woman who had taken Cas, must have been watching them, she would have seen his truck. Baby, distinctive as she was, was the perfect vehicle. The fact that her trunk was already full equipped was an added bonus.

He touched the paintwork hesitantly, then cursing his ghosts, he opened the heavy drivers door and relaxed into her heavy purr the instant he turned the ignition. It felt like returning home. He drove slowly out of the garage and parked her in front of the house, just as Bobby pulled up in a battered old Ford. 

“Where the hell d’ya dig that ole thing up from?” Benny called with a laugh as he strolled around the corner, a duffel thrown over his shoulder.

“You talking ‘bout me or the car, boy?”

\---

Crossing the seal hurt. He curled in on the burning, paralysing intensity of it, his whole body searing with pain. It pulsed sweet and sharp, ebbing away to a dull ache as She coasted Her vehicle to a halt, so that by the time She was wrenching open the passenger door, he was powerless to resist the tug on his arms and would have fallen to the ground but for the several pairs of hands grabbing at his limbs, carried into the house like old luggage.

He lay gasping for air on the bed they had used on their last visit. She pushed his hair from his forehead and he flinched away from her touch. “I know my prince, I know, but it will pass. The worst is over. Shhh.” Someone was unlocking the manacles, and rubbing at his ankles and wrists, before with a simple twist the cursed torq was pulled from his neck.

Even without it he could sense the warding. It dragged at the edges of his mind and body, a vibrating numbness that made it hard to move or think. He retched, nauseous and shaking.

“He’s not settling, brother-of-mine,” Her voice held a note of concern, but Castiel was not fooled, he tried in vain to unseat Her hand from his hair, he could not control his muscles. “What have you done?”

“I enhanced the protection spells, sister,” the voice was harsh, superior, “if the abomination is starting to become immune to your control, I have no wish for him to roam about my home looking for his coat.”

“Don’t call him that!” She sounded angry and Castiel shuddered, clamping his jaw against the chattering of his teeth, lest he bite his own tongue. He let the whimpers of pain he had been suppressing develop into low moans, vocal chords, scratching with the unfamiliar sensation. If he could cause discord between the siblings, maybe he could use it to his advantage at some point. “Undo it,” she snapped. 

“I do not wish... “

“Immediately, brother,” Her tone brooked no argument, “I don’t care what you wish.”

“It is a mistake, Sister-of-mine, but as you will.” 

The clatter of the door shutting echoed through Castiel’s ears making them tickle and itch. He rolled onto his side, curling in on himself, with his arms pressed across his gut, careful to protect the cellphone in his pocket, by pressing it between his thigh and the bed. He was conscious that in the bright lights of the room She might see the outline of it in his pocket and it was still on, twist as he might, he had been unable to press the buttons while he was fastened to the door. If it rang now, it would be a disaster, it was his only lifeline and he had to protect it at all costs. He just had to hope and pray that She did not decide to undress him.

Something shifted in the air. Like a shimmer in the corner of his eyes, a not quite there sensation at the edge of his consciousness and the buzzing confusion began to clear. He relaxed, the rigidity in his muscles eased away, he rolled onto his back, chest heaving as the effort to breathe eased.He blinked against the light, seeing clear and unblurred for the first time since they had crossed the threshold. Just in time to focus on the needle as She pressed it into his arm. “Sleep now my Prince.”

\---

They moved in loose convoy. The battered old Ford carrying Ash and Bobby in the lead, following the tracker. Dean driving his Impala at a safe distance, using alternate roads and weaving their way inland, paths intersecting and crossing at various points. Benny snored softly in the back seat. He had always been the same, able to catch sleep at any point, instantly waking and aware when he needed. Sam closed his phone. “We’re straddling them at a half mile radius, no sign of any lookouts or camera traps. Bobby suggests we send Benny in on a reccy.”

The cajun bear roused from his temporary hibernation and Dean heard the click of his sidearms as he checked the chambers. He tapped at the wheel of his Baby, jaw bunching, he wanted to see for himself. Unasked, Sam nodded and Benny handed him a weapon. “Try not to shoot yourself in the foot, brother,” he said without hint of irony, “You’ll be a touch rusty.”

“I’ll be rusty!?” Dean muttered. “Says the short order cook.”

They moved steadily together, falling into old patterns so ingrained they need not even really communicate. The glow of electric lighting edged the scrappy scrub at the apex of the next incline, a crisp pure white, as neat as a gel pen outline on black sugar paper. They approached low to the ground. Peering over the ridge down onto what looked like a survivalist compound. In truth, they had taken far more fortified locations, with less preparation, but to Dean the stakes had never felt higher. 

The ranch was low and single storey. A sprawl of stucco clad buildings, to the front was a scruffy looking veranda. A string of outside lights swung from their cables, gleaming off assorted vehicles leaving shifting shadows in the dust.

There did not appear to be any lookouts. Light shone in slithers through gaps in the curtains at various windows. Carefully, Benny slid down beside Dean. His breath hot on his ear. “This is definitely it. We’re close enough for a clear signal.” He began removing a small tripod from his duffel.

Ash’s voice crackled through the comms in their earpieces. “Point it in the general direction of the building, dudes, let’s see if we can get our ears on. Just better hope that fine piece of ass you’re chasing ain’t sitting on the mic.”

\---

He woke, dry mouthed and weightless. He opened his eyes slowly to find Her staring down at him, half perched on the bed beside him. “You slept well, Castiel. My brother is concerned that you will try to roam through his house. But I think, if you promise to be a good boy, we can forego any restraints.” 

Castiel swallowed uncomfortably and her eyes dropped to his lips, tracking the movement of his tongue as he tried to moisten them. “Brother,” she called. “Brother, come and sit with Castiel. I’m going to fetch him something to eat and drink, you watch him while I am gone.” She stroked her fingers into his hair and Castiel flinched automatically. “Is there anything you would like in particular, Castiel?” She asked, as if it were a lazy Sunday morning and she were offering him breakfast. 

He shook his head, eyes wary and focused on Her brother, tall and blonde staring down at him, face contorted in distaste. The door closed softly behind Her and Castiel braced himself. But the sneer merely intensified and the fists, still clenched in defiance against his sister, stayed at his sides. “If I had my way, my sister would not have pretended to complete her mission and you would be a pile of fish shit on the ocean floor by now. Don’t presume that just because she values you, anyone else here regards you as anything other than the abomination you are, _my Prince._ ”

“I have no wish to be your Prince,” Castiel replied, the rumble of his voice, strange in his own throat. “I never have wanted any such thing. All I have ever wanted is to go home. If you give me my coat and the use of a vehicle, I will return to the sea and never darken your door again.”

The brother laughed without humour. “You and I both know, that can’t happen, even if she would allow it. Your Uncle paid us handsomely for your death, if he should find out you are alive, he would hunt our entire family down for our part in it. Poor Prince Castiel. Forever trapped. How does it feel to be be completely emasculated. Do you know how we all refer to you, amongst the family?

He stepped closer and Castiel swallowed, determined not to flinch away again. “Prince Castrated.” He smirked and Castiel glared at him. “Can you sense it Castiel? It’s here you know. Your coat. It’s been here the whole time. Hiding in plain sight, amongst all my other trophies. So near and yet so far. Does it hurt more to know it is so close… and yet you shall never have it.”

A flush of cold ran through him. He should have been braver. If he had only looked, the last time he had the opportunity… but then he might never have had this afternoon. Tears prickled his eyes again. 

“I confess,” the brother continued, “I find myself reluctantly impressed that you have managed to chisel an element of free will even whilst wearing my spellwork. What a curious thing you are, neither Selkie nor Daemon. Not the sum of your parts. My sister is correct, in this if nothing else, only she will ever want you. Even that human you seem so drawn to, if he knew your true form would run for the hills. Oh don’t look so alarmed Castiel, did you honestly think she would really let you out of her sight? She has followed you to that beach so many times, watched you mooning over a mere human. Perhaps you should be a little nicer to me. It is only my influence that prevented her from making sure that your ‘temptation’ was removed… permanently.”

“You’ve shaken her. She has always insisted that the torq only bind you, not hurt you too much. But this time… you really will be Prince Castrated. I have excelled myself, your next collar will make that torq look like a daisy chain. With it about your neck you will be little more than a doll for her to play with, and if I had my way you would never be without it. But that is not what she wants. She likes you to have a little autonomy, apparently.”

Castiel stared on, revolted, “Autonomy? You call this hell, autonomy?”

“Oh, little halfling, you have no idea. What you had before was a holiday park, compared to your future. She has a house ready for you this time. No-one will ever find you. Deep in the heart of the land, the benefit of this cursed human country is its size. She is a romantic, Castiel. Believes that one day you will come to appreciate her devotion to you. She has worked so hard, negotiated and compromised to get us all to create a perfect little prison for you, so she can take off the collar and let you roam your cage. Like the pet you are.”

“I will never ‘appreciate’ Her. She can keep me prisoner, but that is what I will always remain. A prisoner, not a willing participant, not anything but a captive held against my will and I will never be Her pet.”

“As you wish to believe it, my _Prince.”_ He laughed, but it was a mirthless, sneering mockery of laughter. “Speaking of pets... he is here you know,” he crowed. “Your human: Sneaking through the dust like a rodent. You reeked of him when she first brought you here, I can still smell his stench in the air and it does not come from you.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t believe you and Dean is not _my_ human anyway. He bought me dinner to thank me for helping him. I was nothing more than pleasant company for a few hours. He has no reason to come for me.”

\---

Dean rubbed the back of his hand across his face. Benny, grabbed his arm. “We need to move, brother,” he nodded towards the house. Below them two men had appeared on the veranda, with them was the small woman they had seen in the footage firing her taser at Cas, before she dragged him away. “If even half of this stuff is for real, we need to _move.”_

“Maybe,” Dean mumbled. 

“What do you mean, maybe?” Benny grumbled, as Dean muttered an apology to go with the heavy shove that sent him sprawling face first down the bank. By the time Benny lifted himself from the dirt his bow legged figure was creeping around the bottom of the ridge 50 yards away from him. “Sneaky little shit,” he groused, brushing the dust from his combats. “You coulda just asked Winchester. No need for the acrobatics.” He crawled back to where he had been prone and grabbed the night sights from his bag. He watched Dean crouch run across the open ground towards the gates, dropping to the side to dodge behind a pillar. 

Benny scanned the compound, one of the men pointed straight towards his friend. A few seconds later just as the exterior lights extinguished with a pop, when Bobby and Ash cut the power to the sector, Dean scrambled over the gates and embarked on his one man ambush. 

He pressed the earpiece picking up the phone more firmly into his ear. Listening hard for more of the strange growling conversation from the house. In his other, he could hear, Sam demanding to know what was going on. “Your brother,” Benny drawled, “has gone full on kamakaze.”

“Dammit, idjuts,” Bobby grumbled, “you were supposed to be babysitting.”

“Yeah, well, this _IS_ Dean we are talking about. And I think I know what the dumbass is doing. I take it you been hearing this bullshit, too.”

“Affirmative.” Their voices echoed down the line.

“I seen some weird shit over the years,” Bobby said. “Christ, I have Ash living on my property. But demons? Selkie? You boys have given me some grey hairs as you’ve grown, but I’ll be damned if I won’t wake up looking like Cruella-de-Vil tomorrow…”

“Yeah, well they’re either collectively crazy, or we got unusual troubles. But I think I know what Dean is doing. Remember El Paso? Well, we listen, we cut the power and then we give him fifteen before we move in.”

Their collective agreement echoed through the comms.

\--- 

Somewhere distant, outside the thin concrete walls he heard a single shout. A series of popping, cracking noises and then the room sank into darkness. He tensed, ready to make a break, but somewhere deep in the building machinery kicked into life with a clank that shook the walls, dying away to a background hum. The lights, much dimmer than before, blinked back on, like a sleepy child awakening.

“Sister of mine?” Outside the room Castiel could hear the sound of scuffling. The door slid open and She came in, pushing Dean ahead of her, his arm in an awkward lock behind his back. 

“Isn’t that sweet,” the brother drawled, “the human seeks to rescue you, Castiel. Perhaps your fledgling feelings are not so unrequited. What do you think, sister, of your rival?”

“He is not much,” She said dismissively, twisting Her free hand into the short hair at his nape, “Pretty enough, I suppose, but sickly. Defective. Your taste in pets is … questionable, Castiel. Although he shows surprising loyalty on such short acquaintance.”

“Who you calling a pet, bitch?” Dean groused, earning himself nothing but a tightening of her grip, he yelped sharply as the bones of his wrist began to crunch together. 

“Please,” Castiel said. “Just let him go, I’ll be your good boy again, I’ll do whatever you wish, I promise, just... please, don’t hurt him. This is not his fault, he has no idea what you are, what I am… Please.”

She dropped Dean to the floor, sending him sprawling forward at Castiel’s feet. “I told you I was not angry with you my Prince, and I meant it. I understand, he was there, smelling of the ocean, it is no wonder that you were tempted. You have ten minutes, Castiel, to say goodbye to your pet, while we finish the rituals on your new collar.”

The brother opened his mouth to protest, but She silenced him with a look. “Ten minute, Castiel, and then, if you keep your promise...” she seemed to come to a decision, “ _if_ you keep your promise, I will wipe his mind and return him to his life unharmed.”

She glanced at her brother, whose mouth had set with thin disapproval. “Think brother it is perfect. He will never even think of crossing me again, lest I harm the pet.”

\---

As the door shut behind them and Dean began to push himself up. Castiel’s voice was low, gravel sore, tinged with a deep sadness that Dean ached to soothe away. “What are you doing here, Dean? You should not have come.” 

Dean settled carefully onto the edge of the bed, rubbing at his wrist, flexing it experimentally. It hurt like fuck, but she had just sprained it. He shuddered at the memory of his bones grinding together. Awareness that she could have broken them like uncooked spaghetti, had she chosen to. “Yeah, well, this is me, Cas. Always barging in where, I’m least welcome.” 

“You are not unwelcome to me,” Castiel said softly, dropping his head into his hands “But, you don’t understand. I… I can’t begin to explain all this if I had several days, let alone ten minutes. I am so selfish, I should never have involved you…”

“Hey,” Dean said softly. “Takes two to tango, buddy. And I hate to point this out, because it makes me feel like a total princess, but you did save my life today.” He checked his watch, was it really only 18 hours since he had been innocently surfing on the beach. “Correction: Yesterday.”

“You are pretty enough to be a princess.” Castiel smiled, the very blue of his eyes finally settling on Dean through a cage of lashes.

“Pretty?!” Dean spluttered, the flush spreading up through his cheeks. “I think I preferred it when you couldn’t talk.” He reached forward impulsively and snagged the hand nearest him. “I heard, Castiel. The phone. Ash is a clever fucker, and… there’s no time for me to explain properly either. But we heard. It’s a lot to take in, but I get the gist. You’re not human, right? But you look human, Jesus, I thought my therapy sessions were awkward last time… Shit. I’m babbling again. And that’s it Cas, you make me babble. You make me feel like a teenage boy going to prom. And I don’t give a fuck _what_ you are, because I feel like I know _who_ you are. Which is ridiculous, cos we’ve not even spent a day together, but I feel like I know enough to know I want to start summat and we can’t do that if you get whisked away to Pleasantville. And this is not like me, holy fuck is this not like me and if I hadn’t had… well, let’s just say I’m not the only one who knows, but if I hadn’t had outside confirmation, I would have thought, hell I’m still not convinced I’m not. I would have thought I’m having some kind of psychotic break from writing fucking fairy stories.”

Through his earpiece, he heard several splutters and exclamations, reminding him that he had eavesdroppers on this conversation. 

_“Man, I thought he was like writing porn.”_

_“You told me it was just some weird coincidence that someone was using your name as a pen name for that book series. I’m your brother, Dean! How could you lie to me like that!”_

_“Like we’d o’ judged ya, ya idjut.”_

Only Benny remained silent on the subject. 

“But all that aside. I had to come. Who else was gonna come save your sorry ass?”

“This is not a fairy story, Dean, there is no saving me. We have to do as She says, or She will kill you.”

“No way am I letting Agents Jay and Zee pull some ‘Look right here’ shit on my brain and no way are you going to play Stepford wife, either.” 

Castiel’s brow pinched in confusion, “They are not agents, Dean, they are daemon…”

But Dean interrupted him, “First, we get you away from here, then we worry about how to stop them hurting either of us, ever.”

Castiel shook his head, “I cannot return to the ocean without my coat and if I stay on the land without the torq my Uncle’s people will sense me and come to kill me and anyone who tries to stand in their way. That is who She is. She was the assassin sent to kill me. It is only because of Her obsession for me that I am still alive. I was young and reckless when I met her, but I was not stupid. She could not harm me while I was still linked to the ocean and I was wary enough that it took her many months to earn my trust and in that time Her obsession grew.”

“So we find your coat and take you back to the ocean.”

“I would have to wear the torq to hide from the other daemon. I find it nearly impossible not to obey Her with it on.”

“So we find your coat, we steal the fucking torq and I kidnap your ass and carry you back to the ocean in my car.”

“You would have to ignore my screams. The torq will hurt me, if I resist Her. And we still have to escape this room and find the coat… it’s impossible.”

“The brother said it’s here,” Dean said, “I heard him says it is amongst his trophies, where are his trophies? Selkie are like seals, right? So we just need to find a seal skin coat. How hard can it be?”

“Dean, he keeps the coats of all of his victims, everyone he has ever killed. And I don’t know what my coat looks like now,” Castiel said miserably. “When I first left the sea, I was an adolescent, barely more than a child and my coat was a seal skin, but I have been so long on the land, it will have changed as I have aged to suit me as I am now and the times in which I am living. That is how we Selkie hide, it is centuries since we simply held our seal form and our coats were seal skins.”

“Centuries? Are you telling me that you are hundreds of years old?” Would that make him a toyboy? He shook himself.

Castiel nodded. “It has taken me nearly half a millenia to gain enough free will to defy Her, even this small amount, despite being half daemon myself.”

Dean squeezed his hand gently. And for a second Cas squeezed back. There was something reassuring in holding hands as they were. “So, you’re half demon, half selkie, does that mean you are super strong, like she is? Can you sense other demons and smell humans?”

“No-one is really sure what my powers are, in truth, because I was little more than a child when She trapped me and She has suppressed me ever since I have never had opportunity to discover them. I did not know I was half daemon until She explained it all to me after She stole my coat and faked my death.”

“Well, then, let your powers loose. Destroy these bastards and we’ll take our chances.”

“I cannot, Dean. This house is warded and even if it wasn’t, I’d have no control. I have no idea, it may be that I will prove to be a damp squib that can’t blow a bulb or I might level several square miles. I have no way of knowing… She is right. I have no choice but to go with Her, you really do not understand what you are up against, you cannot kill daemon with bullets or human weapons, they - we - are not immortal, but we are not mortal either. They will tear you and your family apart, before you can even think of fighting back. And I cannot bear that. She will honour Her side of the bargain for as long as I honour mine. I have endured centuries of this indenture and for your sake, I can endure it again…”

“No way Cas. There has to be a way, you can’t sacrifice yourself like this. And what about me… I don’t want to forget even a minute of our time together, let alone forget your entire existence. And it’s not just me that feels this connection, is it?”

Castiel shook his head, staring at their joined hands. When he lifted his head, his eyes glistened with unshed tears, making the blue even more luminescent even in the dull light.

“Even if you don’t want to be with me, Cas. You don’t want to be with her! You said it yourself, you are her prisoner and you will never accept her as anything more… “ 

They both jumped to their feet as the door was flung open and she burst back into the room. “That is a lie, human, you are corrupting him, and he will be mine. He never once lifted a hand to disobey me, until he first saw you.”

Her brother rushed in behind her. “Calm yourself sister. All will be well, once the Prince wears the collar, he will never disobey you again.”

“I don’t want him to obey me, you fool, I want him to love me again as he once did.”

“I have never loved you,” Castiel said firmly, stepping into her path, half dragging, half pushing Dean behind him. “And I never will, but so long as you let Dean go, I will come with you and I will obey you…”

“You loved me once,” she said, shaking her head, “I know you did. You left the water for me and you understood, once I explained it to you, you understood, and you were coming to love me again. Until you set eyes on him. He stole you from me.”

“He was never yours for me to steal,” Dean said. “Castiel does not belong to anyone, he is not a possession…” he choked, raising a hand to claw at the invisible hand gripping his throat.

“You will not hurt him.” Castiel’s voice was low with menace. “I will not let you.”

The siblings stood side by side. “Calm yourself sister, you control Castiel and I will kill the human.” Together they raised their hands, and Dean felt the constriction of his airway growing tighter, his breath drew harsh into his lungs.

“You WILL not hurt Dean,” Castiel said sharply, and the brother shuddered, a look of shock spreading across his face. He staggered backwards. 

“How?” he whispered, voice ringing with alarm for all it’s quietness. “Th… that is not possible… my house is warded… you…”

She stared. And moved her hands again, she took an abortive step forward as if she were fighting her way through a current. “What have you done?” she screamed. “They will find you Castiel, you cannot wield this kind of power and remain hidden. He will come for you.”

“You WILL never hurt anyone ever again,” Castiel said, rising slowly to his feet. Feeling the power growing in the air around him. The creatures before him were losing their corporeal form. Bodies melting into black mist and smoke, integrity shredding, morphing into something dark and monstrous, a mouth opened in a silent scream amidst the melting mass as they combined, merging into a mess that dropped suddenly to the polished floorboards, the flicker of their human forms crouching on the ground, slumping down.

The air around Castiel shifted and light blasted from his eyes, his arms throwing wide, spine arching back as the power surged from him, brilliant and scouring the room of colour. It spread from him, sharp as a nuclear blast. By the time he collapsed back into Dean’s arms, the only remnants of the siblings was an elongated shadow half way up the wall and a small metal collar lying in the dust on the floor. 

\---

Benny and Sam were just charging the front veranda, and Bobby and Ash were sighting their weapons on the rear exit when the whole world seemed to explode into light. The targets ahead of them disintegrating before they managed a single shot.

\---

“Dean,” Castiel gasped, his grip on Dean’s arm was weak and his eyes were fluttering closed.

“Shhh,” Dean murmured, petting his hair and holding him tight in the cradle of his legs. “Shhh, I’ve got you.”

“You have to… the collar… you have to put it around my neck, now. You have to… my coat…” He slumped further into Dean’s lap, even as Sam burst through the door, with his weapon ready.

Carefully they lifted him onto the bed and laid him still. Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and shook it. “They’re all gone,” he said, gazing at Castiel with real awe. “Every single one of them blasted away.”

Slowly, Dean retrieved the collar, dusting the detritus from its surface. It glinted, markings dark against the shine. It was a perfect round, seemingly without break, he slid his fingers over the surface and his thumb snagged on a small button, he pressed it and the collar fell open in his hands. Reverentially, he lifted Castiel’s head and slid it underneath his neck, murmuring apologies as Castiel whimpered, even though it was he who had instructed him to do it.

It glimmered, irridescent, throwing rainbows against the soft tan of Castiel’s skin. He stroked Cas hair away from his forehead, wincing at the clammy sheen of sweat forming on his face. For a second, bright blue eyes flickered open and settled on his face, they gazed at each other, as, reluctantly, he clicked the collar shut. Almost instantly the awareness disappeared, Castiel’s pupils blew wide and empty black eyes no longer saw him. His jaw bunched and he scarcely felt his brother’s hand on his arm.

“We have to find his coat.”

Sam nodded, “We heard. Benny’s looking.”

“You need to come and see this,” Benny’s voice was echoed along the hall and buzzed in their ears through the comms in a weird double echo. 

\---

The room was full. It brought to mind a costume shop, or a theatre store. There were cloaks, frock coats, shawls, as well as more modern clothes. Benny pulled forward a rail of garments made of animal skins and crude woven fabrics. Dean stood just inside the door, shook his head. “Cas said his coat would be modern, remember, it will have changed to fit the times.”

“How the hell are we gonna know which one, Dean,” Sam said. “We have to let Castiel come in here, see if he can find it.”

“We can’t,” Benny said. “You heard as well as we did, we take that collar off him and he is gonna be found instantly.”

“Well, we can’t take them all with us,” Sam said. “Even if we had a truck, we don’t have the time to load it. We don’t know if that little explosion of power has pinpointed him already, or how long we have before they come if it did.”

Dean walked forward hesitantly, letting his hands run over the nearest rack of clothes. The sleeves sliding through his fingers. He focussed on Castiel, his smile, his bright blue eyes, that looked like the sky and the sea and everything in between. His own eyes, lighted on soft cotton, ahead of him in the second rack over. Soft cotton, the colour of the sun warmed sand on _their_ beach. He pulled the rack in front of him aside and the coats hanging there rocked violently on their hangers, some falling to the ground. He shoved at it, irritably, until it rolled away. 

Benny and Sam stared at him as if he were mad. “Are you sure, brother?” Benny asked.

Dean merely nodded, rolling the coat in his arms so it formed a fat pillow.

“A trenchcoat?” Sam’s squeaked with disbelief, but one look at the determination on Dean’s face had him shrugging, “Why the fuck not, I guess.”

\---

The sun was just rising over the hills when they reached the coast. Dean apologising softly to Baby as he drove her into the sandy parking lot as close the dunes as he could get. With Sam’s help he lifted Cas from the back seat, carrying him bridal style along the path, his feet sinking deeper the further he went.

He had closed Cas’ eyes when they loaded him into the car. Lying him down with his head on the soft pillow of his coat. For Dean, was in no doubt, that he had chosen the right one. He couldn’t explain how he knew exactly, he just did.

He wasn’t sure how close to the ocean they needed to be before could remove the loathsome collar, but as they rounded the last corner of the dunes. Standing in the very spot where he had first laid eyes on Cas, the man stirred in his arms. He glanced down and a pair of blue eyes, gazed back at him. Gently he lowered his legs, and shakily, leaning heavily on Dean for support Castiel stood on his own two feet.

Sam handed Dean the coat, and with one last nod to his brother, he walked back out of sight behind the dunes. Dean reached for the collar, but Castiel closed his hand over Dean’s fingers and shook his head. He pointed towards the sea, and together they made their way over the sand. The light of the dawn sky, reflected off the waves bathing everything in gold. They stood together, gripping each other a little tighter than necessary, with the onshore breeze blowing gently through their hair. 

“What do we do now?” Dean asked quietly. 

Castiel took the coat from his hands and set it on the sand. He made to lift his shirt over his head, and fell heavily against Dean.

“Easy, sunshine. You’re still so weak, let me.” 

Cas leant against him, resting his forehead on his shoulder, breath warm against the curve of his neck as Dean efficiently stripped him of his clothes. “Not quite how I imagined getting your kit off,” he remarked, with a levity he did not feel.

Castiel raised his head and rolled his eyes, smiling at him indulgently. Still awkwardly leaning against him, he dropped his fist onto his open palm, his thumb pointing upwards and lifted them weakly towards his chest. _Help me._

“Anything, Cas. You know that. For you. Anything.”

He tugged at Dean’s shirt, and turned his head towards the water. The golden light glinting off the collar and scattering across the skin of his neck and chest like fine glitter. Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat and with great difficulty peeled off his clothes, while Cas clung to him. 

They stood naked, just holding each other for a moment. Dean let his eyes slide closed, burrowing his nose into the hair just behind Cas’ ear while the surf pounded over the sand and the wind hummed. He wanted to never let go, but he knew he must.

He held Cas around the waist and scooped the coat from the sand, helping Cas into it. “Didn’t have you pegged as a flasher, Cas?” 

Cas tilted his head, a squint pushing crinkles into the skin between his eyebrows. “The coat, it’s… well… it’s like a fancy dress costume of a flasher or something. Or Columbo, maybe. You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about do you…”

Cas shook his head, but he smiled anyway. And turned his head towards the sea. Nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed at the breeze.

“Time to go, huh?” Dean helped him towards the sea, the coat whipping around their legs until the first wave rolled gently over their feet and Castiel sighed noiselessly, the coat melting into his skin. The waves were low today, frosted gold, rippled with charcoal and cresting in the lightest cream. Pushing away the ache, as he had done so many times, cataloguing the colours to focus his mind in the moment. Dean let himself to be lead into the liquid gold.

\---

The influence of the collar was weakening with every step he took, it had latched onto the darkness that boiled through him. A congealing, heavy liquid that threatened to flow through him ever since he had destroyed Her and Her family. The moment he sensed her evil touching Dean, he was almost helpless to stop himself, feeling his anger flow deep into his core and draw out his powers, like a syringe drawing blood. Unnatural and uncomfortable, like someone had found everything remotely bad inside him and syphoned it out to reap destruction on anything it touched. 

But as he got closer to the sea he could feel it ebbing away. The first touch of the waves on his toes had loosened it, washing the connection, diluting it, so that by the time they stood waist deep facing each other, it was no more powerful than a single cotton thread. When Castiel finally lifted Dean’s hands towards the collar, it felt as though one touch would have it shattering into a thousand pieces.

“I don’t wanna,” Dean said, his voice breaking, “but I know you can’t stay here, imprisoned by that thing. Oh God, Cas, please, can’t I go with you.”

Cas shook his head, sadly, rubbing Dean’s knuckle with his thumb, he lifted his hand and pressed it against his own face, letting his head rest there for a moment. Then he lifted his chin, exposing his neck and waited patiently for Dean to release him from the collar. As he knew he would. Dean was nothing, if not a good man.

He was mumbling something and his hands were shaking as his fingers fumbled for the clasp and with a snake like slither and a dull splash the collar fell into the sea. Cas opened his eyes and saw them reflected in Dean’s pupils. His own irises shone gold around the dark, dark charcoal of his pupils, echoing the waves parting around them. Somewhere out to sea, he heard a low call, like the whispering hum of the wind through the dune grass and he turned his head towards it. He opened his mouth to speak as he turned back, but Dean stole his words. His arms looping around Cas pulling him in, one hand splayed across his lower back, the other winding into his hair with a barely there tug that sent sparks shattering through his nerve endings.

For a moment he let himself be kissed, falling apart as Dean poured everything that might have been into the press of his lips and the gentle caress of his tongue. His whole body flared in response and tears scalded his cheeks. The low mournful call echoed through him and knowing that there was nothing else he could do, he melted into the ocean and let the tide pull him away.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146072938@N08/33725570508/in/dateposted/)


	7. Pink Tiaras

Not for the first time, he sat at his desk, staring at an empty page. His last mumbled words on the beach clattering around his brain. “So dawn goes down to day, nothing gold can stay.” A memory shifts back into clarity.

 _Nervous and feeling like a fool, he sat, overflowing at the desk in the community college._ _An interloper in academia. Surrounded by those half his age. Homework. An assignment. The professor, kindly, grey curly hair, like a Grandma poured into the mould of a middle-aged man, returning their papers. Stupid at his age, but his breath catches. He stares at his page. THE END. The back of his work. He screws the paper in his hand, feeling sick he turns it over, eyes scanning for the red. It glares back at him, defying him to deny it. A clear sign of his future. It looks like the Avengers symbol, he thinks._

_“Well deserved, Dean,” ‘call me Donnie’ says to his hunched shoulders. Voice hushed to keep it between them. “It’s a beautiful start. I can’t wait to read and hear what you do next.”_

_His body straightens of its own accord, like an unfurling seedling. Dean Winchester. Drifter. Hard-drinker. Diabetic. John Winchester’s echo. Mentally he scores them through. Dean Winchester~: writer._

It was four weeks since he felt Cas disappear from his arms into the embrace of the ocean. Four weeks of feeling empty and lost. He sat in the scruff at the edge of the dunes every day for the first two weeks. Until Sam intervened as only Sam could, by setting Cara on him. Reminding him that he loves and is loved elsewhere. He misses Cas with an intensity that makes no sense at all. But love has never made sense. And that is it. Against all rhyme and reason he does love Cas. He's lucky he has this outlet for his emotions. So he sat down at his desk and pulled round his pad. The bare white page staring back at him, he reached for _their_ colours to fill the empty space.

\---

Charlie rested her hand on Dean’s shoulder. “How goes it in the realm of Pelagia, handmaiden?

“Good, my Queen,” he replied automatically.  His smile was weary.

She closed her fingers, “Oh yes, you’re fine. The tension in your trapezius doesn’t tell a totally different story at all.”

Dean sighed long and deep and closed his own fingers over Charlie’s. “Fake it til you make it, bitch,” he said softly. “Damn it Charlie, is it stupid to miss someone you hardly knew? Maybe I spend so much time in a fairy tale world I just expected my own happy ever after,” he sighed again and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Maybe I’m just tired. I’m a grown ass man, fairy tale endings are for little girls in pink tiaras.”

He jumped as she grabbed his chin and lifted his face, the bite of her fingers shocking, until she softened her grip and locked her eyes to his. “You listen to me Dean Winchester, number 1, there is nothing wrong with wanting a happy ending, and number 2, no I don’t think missing someone you hardly knew is stupid. Missing the idea of them maybe, but you and Castiel made a connection and what you did for him was a beautiful thing and number 3, don’t you dare diss little girls in pink tiaras in my hearing ever again.”

She kissed his cheek. “You are a wonderful, kind, gentle man, Dean, with a beautiful, creative soul and you shall go to the ball, just maybe not with this prince, this time. But when you do, my friend, I will be there cheering you on as you rock that pink tiara. Now pull your sorry ass together, your public awaits.”

Beyond them on the stage a tweed clad, leather patched man, who reminded Dean of Indiana Jones in lecture mode, was standing at a mic, between two chairs.

“Welcome to Cheltenham, ladies and gentlemen, I think by now you are all familiar with Mariella Frostrup one of our regular hosts,” he waved an arm towards her and she nodded graciously, “And I think you know we have a real treat in store for you this afternoon. I can see from some of the costumes in the audience that we are going to give our next author a thoroughly warm and well deserved welcome. The author and illustrator of the popular Engleweld series, on his first visit to a literary festival in the UK… oh I’m sorry… thank you Mariella... I stand corrected, on his first ever visit to a literary festival and to the UK, Dean Winchester.”

Lips stuck firmly to his teeth, heart pounding in his throat, he shook hands with both MC and Mariella and sat in the proffered easy chair, the spotlight glinting from the chrome frame and giving the leather upholstery a soft sheen, as the polite applause of the British audience washed over them from the darkness beyond.

“Well Dean, this is quite an honour for us to pop your festival cherry so to speak, welcome to Cheltenham.”

“Thank you, Mariella, I’m really glad to be here. It’s been amazing so far this week, just being here so many people who love books as much as I do all in one place, is amazing enough, but to see some of my literary heroes, it’s been truly mind blowing. I met Neil Gaiman this morning and I genuinely had to pinch myself.”

She nodded, encouragingly at him, “Well, I think you’re being supremely modest, your books are truly beautiful and I think many of the parents here, probably agree with me, that your take on fairy tale lore, creating such vivid and real characters, with humour and pathos is a welcome change. It’s certainly not a chore to re-read these books over and over…”

“Well, I hope y’all realise I don’t actually write them for you guys.” A little ripple of laughter hit him from the darkness and he began to relax more.

“Well, I think we know who you really write them for, and I think you’ll be delighted when the house lights go up for questions and you see the collected audience, here, but I believe you’re going to read your latest book for us...Escape to Pelagia, about a half Selkie, half goblin prince and his adventures. Now I know there’s been some controversy, and quite a bit of criticism from some quarters, accusing you of introducing children to inappropriate ideas…” He had been warned that they would raise it, but Mariella was far from accusatory. “...mainly I suspect people who’ve never read a word you wrote or seen an image you painted. Your characters are so real, it seems ridiculous that they wouldn’t reflect society. So, did you make a really determined decision to write Castiel as you did?"

“In all honesty, Mariella. I didn’t. He just came out that way,” he blushed at his inadvertent pun, but the audience of adults were laughing. He shrugged. “Love is love and people… and creatures… they’re not so different really. They come in all shapes and sizes. Engleweld and Pelagia are magical realms, but as you suggested, they are mirrors for our world and I wouldn’t be doing a very good job if I didn’t make sure that mirror was clear and didn’t have great big ole smear of bigotry right across it.”

“It’s certainly not affected sales, I understand you are rapidly encroaching on the leaders in the New York Times Bestseller list for Series for Children with Engleweld, and, personally, I think Escape to Pelagia will eclipse them, it’s a charming love story and on that note… I’ll shut up and hand over to you to read it to us.”

Dean nodded, and tried not laugh as he heard a couple of tiny voices gasping, and whispering excitedly to their parents.

He glanced up as the overhead screen showed his first illustration, a woman holding a toddler, knee deep in the sea, ebony hair whipping against the wind, while the child stretched down from her arms, his tiny hands dipping into the waves.”

“Once upon a time,” he drawled, “for that is how all good stories begin, there was a Prince called Castiel…”

\---

“Stop fidgeting.”

“I can’t it’s a long time since I had feet.”

“We are 67 miles inland and you’ve had them for over four hours.”

“Hm, yes and I spent two hours of that washing the mud from between these awkward stubby little things. How they can call that horror a beach I will never know. You know they call it Western-Super-Mud, despite its official name. British humour, apparently.”

“They’re called toes. The ‘stubby little things’. They’re called toes.”

“They’re freaky is what they are. What purpose do they serve?”

“They stop your shoes falling off for one thing.”

“Like that would be so terrible. Shoes are horrible. Human clothes are so restricting. Are you really sure about this? Although I guess if it goes well, I suppose, you won’t be wearing clothes for very long.” His only answer was a solid glare.

\---

The applause at the end of the book was enormous.

“Ok,” Mariella smiled at him, “I think we can safely say you had us all eating out of your hand. Now I think it’s only fair to raise the house lights and open up to questions from the audience. We’ll let you grab a little drink, while I explain how this works. If you all just raise your hands if you have a question our ushers will move amongst you with the microphones and you can speak to Dean. Please bear in mind this is a child friendly session and over to our first questioner…”

Dean stared out at the patches of colour, too many for even his practiced brain to count and catalogue, children sat with their parents dressed in every costume he could imagine, a few were just generic princesses and knights, a few clearly more closely modelled on the characters from his books. Even those children not costumed sported badges, or sat clutching copies of his books. He swallowed the lump in his throat and caught sight of Charlie sitting with one of the ushers, giving him a massive thumbs up.

“And our first question is from Anna, aged 7.”

“Hello Mr Dean, I love Princess Libby, is she gonna come to Pelagia one day?”

“Well, Anna, I guess if you’re read all the books, you know that Princess Libby is now Queen Libby and she’s pretty busy running Engleweld and making sure that the elves and her own people don’t forget that it’s much better to be friends and share Engleweld than fight over it…” The little girl nodded so hard her wig of flaming red hair fell forward over her eyes. “And, of course, she can’t breathe underwater, unless she manages to find a spell…” Dean started to wonder where the hell he was going with this and just whose wish his imagination was fulfilling. “Do you think she should go to Pelagia or do you just want to see her again?”

“Well I do, I like her, lots,” there was a pause as she thought, “but Prince Castiel seems really nice and I think he needs help, and she’d be able to tell him how to make everyone get along, cos she’s so good at it and I think… I think… I think they’d be really good friends.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, Libby is pretty cool and very clever. Just like you.” He glanced sideways and briefly caught Charlie’s eye. “I think they’d be good friends, too,” he added a little wistfully. So shoot him, it hurt that they never met.

The half an hour flew by, most of the questions were from children, a few didn’t make much sense and one little boy began to cry, overwhelmed, so Dean sat on the edge of the stage and called him over, wiping his tears and suggesting his Mommy ask the question until his voice grew brave again.

\---

The buzz of the ink gun and the steady sting of the needles injecting the design around his neck, just above his collar bone felt close enough to the sensation of the torq to make him shiver.

The tattooist paused, “You OK?”

He nodded. And relaxed back into the chair, as each rune was painted deep in his skin. It had taken much negotiation and a great deal of convincing, but the elders had finally relinquished the secret. And the demonstration of his powers at the house, far from a beacon call had served as a warning.

His will was finally his own, and his choice had been easy.

\---

“Dean Winchester, melting hearts since 1978,” Charlie crooned.

He grinned at her ruefully. “It went OK, didn’t it.”

“You stormed it. There’s not a child in that room that doesn’t want to put you in their pocket and keep you. Nor for that matter a parent who doesn’t want to take you home and…”

“Jeez, Louise, keep it U rated, think of the children!” he mocked.

She laughed at him. “Ready to go sign some shit and sell some Books? Get your best selfie face on?”

\---

A harassed looking girl in a black Waterstones t-shirt staggered across the temporary bookshop floor under the weight of a heavy box, the giant this way up arrows pointing to her overheated face. Dean automatically pounced forward as she peered around it looking for a spot for it on the floor, helping her guide it down. She glanced up, muttering her thanks, face transforming into a wide smile as she recognised him from the publicity poster over the desk. “Can’t keep the tables stocked,” she told him, “I hope you had bananas with your Weetabix this morning.”

He stared at her puzzled and she nodded to the other side of the bookshop. A straggling queue of people threaded around the displays and out of the door. And not all the adults had children with them. “For the hand cramps,” she added with a wink.

\---

The sky outside had long since scrolled through hues of blue into the deep, star sprinkled purple stained orange by the sodium street lights where its hem skirted the town. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and he was fairly certain, that despite the fact that he wrote by hand and painted every day his hands would never let him pick up a pen or brush again. He didn’t really care, a strange peace had descended on him. He had been met with nothing but love and adoration for hours.

The staff were shutting down the tills and encouraging the stragglers to make their purchases so they could close for the night. Other authors had come and gone from their signings, while he stayed, determined to give every single child their moment with him.

He let his head drop onto his arms. The defining picture of an exhausted man. Someone touched his hand. Lightly. Hesitant fingertips just barely grazing his knuckles. He started to raise his head, spying the edge of a deep tan trenchcoat, his heart already filling and overflowing, exploded into colour and light.

“Hello Dean.”

 

~ And they all lived happily, ever after. ~


End file.
